 Bathes in Maple Syrup | Dancing Lobster | Moy Pomidor | Seneca's Beard | That Is So Fetch!
Nikolaos had made it precisely one step out of the telephone box before someone nearly became intimately acquainted with its door.
He stopped, one hand still wrapped around the handle, and looked at the man who had jumped backward. There was nothing but mild irritation on Nikolaos' face. He'd survived hours of British bureaucracy only to emerge into daylight and immediately have someone complain about where he was opening a door.
His gaze lingered, taking in the man's face, the dark hair, the way he stood. There was something familiar about him.
Nikolaos' eyebrows drew together slightly as he studied him, trying to place where he'd seen that face before. He was reasonably certain they hadn't met. But he'd seen the man somewhere... Quidditch, maybe?
That seemed likely. Nikolaos had spent enough of his life around the sport that faces tended to stick even when names didn't. Still, he couldn't immediately place him, and after the afternoon he'd just endured, Nikolaos wasn't particularly motivated to dig through his memory to figure it out.
Instead, his eyes dropped briefly to the patch of pavement directly in front of the telephone box before lifting to meet the man's eyes.
"Yes," he replied in English, his Greek accent considerably thicker around the single word. "Your face. I see." It was ridiculous how pretty it was.
There was a beat.
"Maybe watch where you stand, yes?"
Nikolaos released the door, leaving the man to do with that observation whatever he pleased. His expression remained mostly impassive, save for the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth as he pushed a stray curl back from his forehead.
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